


I Cast A Lonesome Shadow

by Karolina



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grantaire Survives, Angst, M/M, One-Sided Enjolras/Grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 03:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karolina/pseuds/Karolina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As he woke up in the middle of the night, the only companion he had were half-dried bottles and trembling shadow in the corner of his room.</p><p>How strange. It's like nothing happened at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Cast A Lonesome Shadow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ibbyliv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ibbyliv/gifts).



> This is pure madness, but I'm gonna strike while the iron is hot. Maybe that kind of spontaneity will help me gain some confidence. I'm sorry for any possible errors, feel free to correct me, I'm very willing to take constructive criticism.
> 
> The work is inspired by the song covered by Martin Lee Gore (Happy Birthday to him, by the way), under the same title. You can listen to it there: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DEyKd1Kj1l4
> 
> For Ibbyliv again. I hope you will like it. Thank you for supporting me, and have a great time with your friend ^^.

I Cast A Lonesome Shadow

_I sit and watch the candle and the flicker of the flame_  
 _My writhing shadow twists and turns as though it is in pain_  
 _I'm trying to escape the memory my heart recalls_  
 _And I cast a lonesome shadow on these lonely, lonely walls_  


His hands hurt. He's been hitting the wall with his fists for an hour. Then he tumbled on the floor and fell asleep. As he woke up in the middle of the night, the only companion he had were half-dried bottles and trembling shadow in the corner of his room.

How strange. It's like nothing happened at all. 

He would be there anyway. In the early evening, all of _them_ would gather around the table in Musain and he would just look, like he always did. Then _he_ would kick him out – for being loud, being absent-minded, sketching, drinking, doing nothing at all. And Grantaire would go home, open up all the windows, looking into the warm darkness of June night. He would undress and lie on the sticky floor, with hands in his tangled, messy hair, pretending it's not his hair or not his hands or not even his flat nor his body, now gleaming with sweat in faint light of the candle. He would whisper his name between short sips of the absinthe. He would whisper _enjolras_ , he would whisper _god_ , there's no difference at all. He doesn't believe in neither of them.

He'd prefer to lie at his feet now. 

He remembers hearing the commands, shots, thud of the body hitting wooden floor. And he doesn't remember what has stopped him from dying there as well. And now he's here. And the only company he keeps is his shadow.

_The image of a love I lost and all the things I'd planned_  
 _Are as empty as the bottle that I hold in my hand_  
 _My soul is buried in the depths of love and life's pitfalls_  
 _And I cast a lonesome shadow on these lonely, lonely walls_


End file.
